There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream 
There's spiders on the walls of abandoned factories 
Setting fire to the trash, dance beneath the fog 
When the cops come, we run like hell
Stealing from our souls, born cheap out here 
A dream that can't compete
Up against the fear of never getting away 
There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream 

There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream 
Into the earth and out of the past 
We plug in our guitars and begin to feed 
Off the spirits in the air flying in our minds 
The sound we try to hear is 
So many years from ever being defined 
There's nothing to do in the Midwest but dream